


Tell the Truth to Me, Love (Does My Hair Look as Nice?)

by serenelystrange



Category: Leverage
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Haircuts, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29670936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenelystrange/pseuds/serenelystrange
Summary: This fic is the reason I found myself googling "how to get tar out of your hair." So, there's that! -- Just some ot3 fluff, and possibly some hair being cut!For AwkwardPotatoChild - Thank you for participating in the Leverage Secret Santa Exchange this year!
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14
Collections: Leverage Secret Santa Exchange (Mod Gifts)





	Tell the Truth to Me, Love (Does My Hair Look as Nice?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AwkwardPotatoChild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardPotatoChild/gifts).



“How in the actual sweet baby Jesus’ name did you manage this?”

Eliot glares up at Hardison from where he’s slumped down on a kitchen chair, and heaves a deep sigh.

“I didn’t ask the fuckers to blow shit up and somehow cover me in actual tar,” he responds with an exaggerated frown.

Hardison shrugs in acquiescence, because the man has a point.

“We can fix this,” he says, pulling out his phone. “Just let me google some stuff real quick.”

Eliot groans, the tar dry and pulling uncomfortably at his hair and scalp, but nods.

“Thanks,” he says after a moment, giving Hardison a quick but grateful half-smile.

Hardison just hums in response, already pages deep in his search.

“So the internet says baby oil should be able to get tar off of skin and hair,” Hardison says, brandishing a comically large bottle of said baby oil in his hand at Eliot.

“You just had a giant bottle of baby oil handy?” Eliot asks, smirking slightly.

“I do things sometimes,” Hardison says, huffing with faux indignation.

“You don’t use it for lube,” Eliot says, smirk growing. “I mean, unless Parker and I don’t wear you out enough, and your other partners do things differently.”

Hardison rolls his eyes.

“Literally when would I even have time to have other lovers?” he asks. “Plus, you know I don’t want anyone else. Asshole.”

“Brat,” Eliot teases back, looking up at Hardison’s face fondly.

“You love it,” Hardison says, with all the confidence of a man who has spent hundreds of hours in bed proving that exact point.

Eliot just snickers.

“If you must know,” Hardison says. “I bought it so I could learn how to give good massages, ok?”

“What?” Eliot asks, because that’s just not what he had been expecting.

“I hate when you or Parker get hurt, or worn out,” Hardison says quietly, “I just wanted to read up on techniques some more before I started offering the massages. And I got this one because it’s unscented, and I know how much you hate strong scents when you’re hurt.”

“Shit,” Eliot says, feeling terrible at once. “That’s really fucking sweet.”

“It’s almost like I’m a good boyfriend or something,” Hardison says, only slightly huffily.

“You’re my favorite boyfriend,” Eliot says, reaching out and tugging Hardison’s t-shirt until he’s close enough to straddle Eliot’s lap.

Hardison does, arranging his legs over Eliot’s on either side of the armless kitchen chair and dropping the bottle of oil between their chests.

“I’m your only boyfriend,” Hardison feels compelled to point out, even though he’s smiling down at his ridiculous lover.

“Just take the compliment, honey,” Eliot drawls, somehow managing to give Hardison a seductive look even with half his face and hair covered in tar.

“No pet names when I can’t touch you,” Hardison admonishes quietly as he pops open the cap of the bottle.

“I’m not stopping you,” Eliot says, leaning back and grinning as he loops his hands around Hardison’s waist, linking his fingers together at the base of his spine.

Hardison looks at Eliot thoughtfully and then down at the bottle of oil, before finally shaking his head.

“Later,” he promises. “But let me get you cleaned up first.”

Eliot scowls slightly at being denied, but he can’t really fault Hardison’s logic, so he surrenders and tilts his head up at him in offering.

“Better get to work, then, darlin’.”

Hardison swallows audibly. It’s going to be a long night.

Hardison starts with Eliot’s hair, a good chunk of the left side of it being covered in the black goop. He smears the baby oil liberally on the hair, soaking it as much as the hair allows, hands coming away with inky smudges that he wipes onto a towel between passes.

“It managed to miss most of the right side,” he says thoughtfully, eyeing the mostly undisturbed side of Eliot’s hair.

“Hmm,” Eliot agrees, thinking back. “I was ducking when everything went boom,” he says. “Just got luck with the angle I guess.”

Hardison pauses, a wave of emotions flooding him suddenly. He wants to say something about how lucky Eliot is to have not been actually hurt in the explosion, or how his luck seems to carry on job after job, leaving Hardison terrified that one day it will run out. But he decides that conversation can wait until they’ve both gotten a good night’s sleep and he isn’t still running purely on coffee and leftover adrenaline.

“I’m glad,” is all he says, giving Eliot a soft smile as he rubs more oil into the hair.

Eliot doesn’t say anything, but he does turn his face slightly to press a quick kiss to Hardison’s wrist, and that’s enough to settle Hardison’s racing heart for now.

Next, he coats Eliot’s face and neck with the baby oil wherever the black smudges lay, massaging it in steadily before adding another layer.

“Well it’s coming off your skin well enough,” Hardison says a few minutes later as he’s wiping the oily tar from Eliot’s face with another cloth.

He runs the cloth gently across Eliot’s mouth, clearing the small amount of tar that had smattered his lips and the surrounding skin.

“All clear?” Eliot asks, waiting for Hardison’s nod before hooking a finger into Hardison’s collar and pulling him down into a sweet kiss.

“Sap,” Hardison says as he pulls away, even though he’s smiling just as sappily down at Eliot.

“Mhm,” Eliot agrees, and tilts his head back up for another kiss. Hardison obliges.

Parker finds them like that some time later, wrapped up in each other in what can’t possibly still be a comfortable position on the kitchen chair.

“I brought the combs,” she says as she pads into the kitchen, snickering when she manages to catch them off guard and they both startle.

“Oh good,” Hardison says, smiling over at her dazedly. “It’s going to take both of us to comb this stuff out if we don’t want to be in this kitchen all night.”

“I definitely don’t want to be in this kitchen all night,” Eliot rasps, shooting Parker a devious smile.

Parker hands Hardison one of the fine tooth combs and brandishes the other at them like a weapon.

“Let’s do this!”

After the fifth pass of oil and combs, Parker stands and frowns at the patch of hair on Eliot’s left side that just refuses to come away clean.

“It’s really matted in there,” she says, frowning. “We might have to shave it.”

Hardison and Eliot give her twins gasps of outrage, which she secretly finds adorable, but manages not to let on.

“I can’t shave my head,” Eliot says, eyes widened in horror.

Hardison, who had finally gotten up from Eliot’s lap, moves closer again to peer at the offending swath of hair and scalp.

“It is really stuck in there,” he says, regretfully. “I do have a buzzer,” he adds, gesturing to his own hair where it’s been various levels of shaved over the years.

Eliot slumps slightly in resignation, but nods.

“I have an idea,” Parker says suddenly, grinning.

Eliot looks up, torn between curiosity and the wariness that comes with any idea Parker has.

“How do you feel about an undercut?” she asks.

“I don’t even know what that is,” Eliot says.

“I think Parker’s a genius,” Hardison says, pulling out his phone again and searching quickly before showing Eliot some pictures. “See? You won’t even have to lose the length. It’s just the under-layer, and you can still have your waves, just flipped to the other side or pulled back.”

Eliot looks at the pictures critically before looking back up at Parker and Hardison.

“You think that will work?” he asks.

He frowns at the phone in thought, brow furrowing with what Hardison and Parker know are his insecure eyebrows.

“I think you’ll look hot as fuck,” Hardison says bluntly.

“And you won’t be sticky anymore,” Parker adds. “But also hot,” she agrees, grinning.

“Fuck it,” Eliot says after a moment. “You two are stuck with me anyway, go for it.”

A few hours later, after everyone has eaten and showered, they collapse into bed, ready to sleep for days.

“It’s so fun,” Parker says, running her fingers over the newly shaved section of Eliot’s hair, sending pleasant little tingles down his neck.

“So you’re in the middle tonight?” Hardison asks, laughing at how Parker has practically koala’d herself around Eliot in pursuit of playing with his hair.

“Shh,” Parker says, closing her eyes and resting her head on one arm, the hand from her other arm still swiping over Eliot’s hair.

“Sleepy Parker sandwich it is,” Hardison says, shrugging.

“It’s a good sandwich,” Parker mumbles, not bothering to open her eyes.

Eliot laughs and presses a kiss to her palm on one of its swipes across his head.

Hardison crawls into the bed and gets comfortable, pulling the oversized blanket up over their waists before slinging one arm loosely across the small of Parker’s back.

“When I can keep my eyes open,” he promises, “we’re gonna have all the sex.”

“All of it?” he hears Eliot reply, sounding amused.

“All of it,” he confirms, before yawning again.

“Good plan,” comes Parker’s slurred reply, already mostly asleep. “Go, team!”

Hardison is almost asleep before he can even think of something witty to say in response, but the darkness that envelopes them is warm and soft, and he decides that everything else in the world except for their bed can wait until the morning.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from The Amazing Devil's song "Battle Cries." They're awesome.


End file.
